Re-Up Gang - Re-Up Intro lyrics

R-E-U-P-G-A-N-G r-E-U-P-G-A-N-G
R-E-U-P-G-A-N-G r-E-U-P-G-A-N-G
R-E-U-P-G-A-N-G r-E-U-P-G-A-N-G
R-E-U-P-G-A-N-G r-E-U-P, yuugh!

Young, obnoxious, hand on our crotches
Swagger out of this world
Call us the Diddy-boppers
Fuck the shit out your girl
Let the city watch us
Hit her with the Dougie like Cam'ron
Move, bitch! Move, bitch! Throw that shit
My jam's on (Like)
White Lambo (Yes) , hear them fans blow
Black interior, I's a modern day Sambo
So nigga-ish, they flows frivolous
Tickle us pink like white girl clitoris
Fuckin' the game up, Re-Up
Them niggas deceive ya
We get 'em for thirteen-fever!
We don't believe you!
My reputation carry stripes in hood
I am Zebra
Fucker! Neither you nor your man's my caliber
I challenge you, the cocaine balancer
We hit you from afar, I'm silencer
(Ye-awh, can non) neighborhood P

Dig it, I'm in a rage like Cujo
Y'all wanna wrestle, play sumo
Murk your bitch ass on my uno, you know
Shots from the two blow
Flush all other niggas faces
We take all other niggas places, 'scuse us
No excuses, slain like Confucius
Don't confuse us, we really do this
Re-Up's ruthless, ain't much to prove this
Two clips, not Pusha and Mal'
The two holdin' the rounds, the
Click-clack and the pow, pussy
Talk foul, get slapped in your mouth, pussy
When I'm around, take it back in the house
Pussy and I'm flossing, too
Big charm with an igloo, Hermés blue
Sky-like, I'm high like giraffe ass
Crack, hash, Re-Up, what y'all mad at?

This ain't nothing but candy from a baby
I sell that shit, got 'em stuck since the 80s
Y'all ain't even thinking 'bout
Sticking to format y'all niggas telling
"ooh! ooh!"-ing like Horshack
Singin' with the band with snares and hi hats
And it ain't slow us none
We kept hunting for more crack
We ain't holler back, nigga, we holler Black
Card Era, second coming, taking you back
And it's a known fact y'all
Tired of the circus
So come home where you smell
The crack in the verses
The whole rap world watched the
Clipse take a bow we left it in your hands
You ain't make Father proud
None of y'all can copy a hard act to follow
We was cursed with the spirit of verses
The stigmata
Suicide-bomb you, like Mohamed Atta
Or the doors on that Phantom
Re-Up, we rap martyrs, what!

Black Card Exclusive
Member of the secret society
It's not just music that I barter with
Tape tight on the soft you
Chef to get harder with art of it
Mastered the flame that they solder with
"Young'un, you could learn" Liva
Coach Carter it
I was a part of it, loiter in the Woolrich
Thirty paces from work, of thirty-grand
Two shirts
"Cesare Paciotti" scribbled in the wool
Stitched three-quarter blazer
Sharp like a single-edge razor
Or them Gemstars, breaking that beige up
Now, I'm an arm, left of the best
As we conquest the rest of the rap game
You listen in vain, nigga
Got lil' bad bitches in 'Milio Pucci
Sitting on blades like Kristi Yamaguchi
In the SL two-seat six-inch heels by Gucci
When a player land, ma, scoop me
No luggage, I shopped in
California sun on my skin
As the rocks blind traffic that I'm in
I'm Magic with the pen I'm
Jordan in the booth
I'm Melo with the flow Lebron I'm the truth

Yeah, niggas! Re-Up Gang!
It's the R-E U-P G-A-N-G!
We Got It 4 Cheap, Volume 2!
The Black Card Era! You know!
Reminisce, '9-9, to this one remember?
Whole lotta rapping, no deals
Trunk and the wheel like Aspen
Looking like a million
Motherfucking crushed Aspirin!
Live niggas respect it come on!